


Creaks & Squeaks

by wisia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2823791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisia/pseuds/wisia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the years, Tony tries to cope with the things in his head. Steve helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Creaks & Squeaks

**Author's Note:**

> Actually in the mood to write a bit. But I have to warn that the style and tone of this is different from my usual writing. Kind of like little vignettes. I'm not sure if I like it or not.
> 
> But inspired by the song "Little Talks" by Of Monsters and Men.

         The mansion’s floors creaked with every step that Tony took. At least, it seemed that way to him. Stark Mansion was old, filled with everything that was the Starks and Howard. Having the Avengers here, there in the old building made a difference. Made everything fade away except at nights when Tony couldn’t sleep and couldn’t tinker. And so Tony walked, paced the long halls and heard the creak in the stairs and around every corner.

          “You’re still up.”

          Tony barely managed to keep from jumping. Then, he clutched his hand to his heart because it was only Steve.

          “You’ve got to watch out for my poor heart,” Tony said. “What would the press say if I died because of you?”

          “Tony,” and there was that sigh, just a little fondness creeping through. “It’s four in the morning.”

          Tony, of course, deflected. “You’re still up.”

          Steve gave him long stare. “I slept. I usually get up at 4:30AM, but I woke earlier today.”

          Tony squinted at him. “You look unnaturally chipper.”

          “Right,” Steve shook his head. “Let’s get you to bed.”

          “I want coffee,” Tony declared but he let Steve steered him to his room. “And you know the stairs squeak?”

          “You can fix it later,” Steve said. “Bed now.”

          Then he wrinkled his nose. “Have you been drinking?”

          “A sip,” Tony said and rolled his eyes when Steve looked at him with that Captain America gaze. He sighed. “A lot. I don’t know.”

          “Tony,” Steve said softly.

          “I know. Bed. To bed.”

          The sleep helped. A little. Only now, Tony didn’t feel like getting up. It was probably the alcohol, Tony groaned and turned over. He buried his head beneath his pillow and rubbed his face against the sheet. No. He just didn’t want to get up.

          There was a light knock to the door, but Tony ignored it. Ignored it as the person ignored his not answering and came right in.

          “You okay?”

          It was Steve. Again. Tony squeezed his eyes shut.

          “Go away. I’m still sleeping.”

          He hated how the words came out sounding more tired, wearier than he wanted to admit.

          “I can see that,” Steve said and sat down on the edge of the bed. He put a hand on Tony’s head, stroking his hair slowly.

          “If you want me to get up, you have to dress me yourself. I don’t think I can dress myself.”

          There was a silent audible pause as the words registered with both Tony (who just realized he said something without even making it a joke) and Steve.

          “Okay,” Steve agreed easily.

          “I--,” Tony swallowed, throat working as his brain came online faster than he expected. “I’m a big boy.”

          And Steve laughed. It was a nice laugh that made Tony feel warm all over. It sounded better than the things inside his head. It was a shame Tony couldn’t bottle that stuff. Pure Steven Grant Rogers right there.

          “I bet you’ll try anyway,” Steve said because Tony said it out loud. Tony laughed too. He would.

          However, things like that laugh weren’t meant to stay. And Tony found everything creaked years later in Seattle. In his relatively little place while he worked on Resilient.

          “Are you even sleeping?” Pepper asked him as they ate Chinese food over paperwork. Tony didn’t manage to keep one stray chow mein noodle from slipping onto the more than official document.

          “I am,” Tony said and smiled his infamous press brilliance as he swiped at the paper and noodle. Pepper snorted and quickly commandeered the document and fixed it better than Tony could have. With more efficiency too.

          “Tony,” and it was nice that even after everything she could still be that exasperated at him. Still sit here with him and work on Resilient. Tony looked up at the ceiling.

          “I try,” Tony admitted reluctantly. “It’s…been hard.”

          “You can—“

          “Always talk to you? Yeah,” Tony said. “Got it. Let’s get back to this.”

          That night, the wood floors and the drawers seemed to creak and squeak louder than before. And Tony reached for his Stark pad. He tapped it, and the sound of Steve’s laugh filtered through the speakers and echoed into room. It was as close as Tony could get to that sound, probably as much as he would ever get to do these days.

\-------------

 

          “I’m not dreaming, am I?” Tony asked.

          “Let me help you.” And Steve pinched him. Hard.

          “Okay, not a dream,” Tony went on and rubbed his arm. That actually really hurt. “Watch your hands, you super soldier. I’m an old man.”

          “I thought you weren’t old at all,” Steve said. Tony’s lips twitched in amusement.

          “You’re not supposed to say it that way.”

          “How am I supposed to say it?” Steve turned to look at him, leaning in close.

          “With more flattery,” Tony replied promptly.

          “Oh?”

          “Oh,” Tony agreed and was fascinated by how blue Steve’s eyes were. By how he was there, right here with Tony. This house didn’t have such a great roof, but it worked right now. For them both.

          Steve licked his lips. “You’re not old at all.”

          “Still not working,” Tony said even as he couldn’t help but leaned in toward Steve. Almost naturally.

          “Well, that’s no good,” Steve said. He placed a hand on the back of Tony’s neck, tilting Tony’s face up towards him. “But I’m not good with words.”

          And Steve showed him instead.

 


End file.
